


Consortship

by TheSuspiciousOrange



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Spike - Freeform, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tumblr Prompt, Very sticky, valve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSuspiciousOrange/pseuds/TheSuspiciousOrange
Summary: Tyrest wants you to release him from his sin.And you'll do it on your own terms.





	Consortship

**Author's Note:**

> Another request from tumblr. This one asked for Tyrest consummating with reader. I may have spun a few things~

I think this person meant Tyrest, the Holey Asshole so consummating union with the mech we shall! I’ve never actually written for him so this should be fun!

* * *

 

When you had agreed to this, you hadn’t really considered a lot of factors.

For one: just what you were really getting yourself into.

Yet here you were, head bowed and draped in garments made of the thinnest wove metal, sitting before the Chief Justice of Cybertron. Taking a moment to peek through the sheer veil on your brow, you note the focused expression, faceplates furrowed with... regret? Disgust? Relief? It was impossible to tell with Tyrest.

“You should be honoured, flesh-creature,” he finally intoned, golden optics flickering back online. “Out of all in my sights, even those far more worthy, I have taken _you_ as a consort in the Optics of Primus.”

Ah yes. Another thing you hadn’t considered: his disdain for non-Cybertronians.

Not that it mattered, considering where you were. You couldn’t fight down the slightly mocking smirk, crossing one leg over the other. “Me thinks thou dost protest too much, Tyrest. For one claiming to be ever above humans, you seem _awfully_ eager to marry me.”

His refined features twist into a rather ugly scowl, servos clenching into tight fists. “ _Hold your glossa_. This is a consort-ship, not one of your primitive bonds. You exist to purge my sinful ways so that I might remain worthy in the optics of Primus. That is all.” 

Oh yeah, you were absolutely married. Or were you the mistress on the side and Primus was the spouse? Ah, details, details.

“Well,” you began in a low, purring tone, “Should we start purging, my _Consort_?” The word comes out somewhere between mocking and suggestive, seeming to actually draw a bit of a purpled flush to the Chief Justice's faceplates. Whether it was from desire or anger was anyone’s guess.

"That would be best," he exvented shakily. Without warning or preamble, his hole-covered servo scoops you up like a ragdoll. Digits begin feverishly stripping you free of both the imposed and your own garments as he sits back on his berth, a creaking panel working its way open.

Placing your now-nude form along the crease of a hip-joint, he lets out a soft sound of relief as his spike pressurizes.

Well. It... ah, it was certainly... big. Probably your height, maybe a bit taller. You make an inquiring gesture towards the curved, heated metal. Even from here, you could feel the warmth radiating from it. But surely he didn’t expect you to _fit_ that!

...Right?

Optics half-offlined, Tyrest sneered, nudging your (comparatively) tiny form closer to the looming appendage. “Pleasure me. Relieve me of my sin.”

Shooting the leering mech a scowl that matched his earlier one, you examine your target. There were several ways to go about this but you figured it was best to be as direct as possible. Licking your lips, you lay a palm against the pressurized spike, pleased to find it wasn’t scalding but the warmth was fairly significant. This would probably start to hurt after a while.

As you’re about to commence a full-body rub against the minutely twitching member, you’re attention is actually drawn by a few flashing biolights and another soft, nearly inaudible creak of something opening. Attention now drawn away from the hulking spike, you are surprised by plump, damp mesh framed by small lights further below between the Chief Justice’s thighs.

“No...” you hear behind you in a warning tone, even feeling Tyrest begin to sit up.

Grinning like a fiend, you drop down onto the actual berth to stand before this new development. If you were going to _relieve him of his sin_ , as he so charmingly put it, then it would be on _your_ terms. Flashing him a smile that earned you a sharp blast of cooling vents, you begin rubbing a rather prominent node at the top of this new spot.

Tyrest lets out a stuttering gasp, head tossed back sharply. “Not-- m-my valve--”

Valve, huh? Yeah, you could work with this. Especially if it would bring this holier-than-thou mech to his knees, figuratively, before you. Licking your lips, you press more insistently with your palm, kneading the sensitive metal with firm strokes. The result is instantaneous, drawing a heated groan, thighs sprawling apart to give you more room.

You trace your other hand along the plump metal mesh, admiring the stickiness quickly accumulating on your palm. Without further preamble, you tighten your roaming hand into a fist and firmly shove it into the entrance before you. You’re rewarded with a high-pitched whine and a gush of purplish fluids painting your arm and front.

The thighs on either side of you tremble, breathy moans filling the room. “Supposed--- my spike-- impudent flesh creature--” The green and blue mech’s words were like music to your ears. Your small arms could reach nodes inside him with such precision, you were apparently steadily driving him insane.

Readying your other hand, you shove another fist into his valve, using you mouth to please that taunting light above the soaked mesh.

His cries rose in urgency, along with his protests, repeatedly moaning about how _wrong_ this all was. **Dost protest too much, indeed** , you think teasingly as you suck and nibble at the node under your mouth. Your arms move at a feverish pace, seeking to see the Chief Justice come undone under your touch.

Undone he does become, between his own self-berating thoughts of being _dominated_ by a being small enough he could crush with a single step and your feverish efforts in and on his valve, he doesn’t last long. With a final few thrusts, you feel the metal tighten and spasm around your arms, Tyrest’s pleasured scream filling your very smug ears.

Thick, almost syrupy purple fluid gushes out, painting your face and body as the large mech’s hips thrust against you thoughtlessly. Several times, he nearly knocks you over with his insistent rocking. By the time his overload winds down, he’s collapsed strutlessly on the berth, steam billowing off his frame, soft whimpers about how wrong this was dancing in the air.

Oh yeah. You were going to enjoy this little arrangement, you think as you lick some of the fluid from your hand, earning a weak rev of an engine as Tyrest watches every movement through dazed optics.

You would enjoy this quite a bit.


End file.
